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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29522598">the lungs of me be crowns over you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucianlibrarian/pseuds/lucianlibrarian'>lucianlibrarian</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Ardyn squints a lot, Ardyn Also Appreciates How Beautiful the Bros Are, Ardyn Izunia Backstory, Ardyn Izunia Being Ardyn Izunia, Ardyn Izunia Lives, Ardyn Izunia Redemption, Ardyn Izunia is a Troll, Banter, Blood Magic, Brot4 if you squint, Gen, I Swear These Things Can Coexist, Magic, Metanoia Moira Zine (discontinued), Rituals, Young Ardyn Izunia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:40:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,974</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29522598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucianlibrarian/pseuds/lucianlibrarian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Keeping the blade tight against Ignis’s throat, I gesture with my free hand. “This place and all you see beyond? They’re sacred mysteries. You must be worthy of them.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I fail to see how surrendering has anything to do with that.” The way he focuses despite the moonwhite break of light behind his eyes would terrify a lesser man. “Nor is that knife of yours inspiring much reason to do so.”</em>
</p><hr/><p>Ardyn has a plan that may save his and Noctis's lives, but he needs to bring everyone into the fold.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ardyn Izunia &amp; Noctis Lucis Caelum</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the lungs of me be crowns over you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was supposed to be my piece for <em>Metanoia Moira</em>—a braided narrative that weaved past and present (in two points of view) to imagine a possible path to an Ardyn-and-Noctis-both-live ending. However, with the folding of the zine, I don't really see a reason to sit on the posting.</p><p>People who know me know that my "paths" to impossible endings tend to have a lot of ritual magic, and that my Ardyns can be downright trolls. This piece should be pretty par for the course in that regard.</p><p>That said, I was pretty nervous about this one during the writing and drafting process, honestly, because it’s still a bit different. I can’t help but feel very vulnerable, tossing this out there. Everything that's happened—how this whole thing played out on my end, though certainly not high on the list of Big Problems(tm)—had me crying this afternoon, but no use hemming and hawing about it any longer. Thanks to everyone who’s supported me. ♥</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> you make a fine shrine in me<br/>
</em>—Purity Ring, “Fineshrine”</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Noct, my boy, you <em>know</em> I’m watching them all quite closely these days, and I must admit—your beloved chamberlain’s cleverer than I gave him credit for. Still, we really should pity him. He dealt with your puberty, then befriended Ravus <em>and</em> taught himself Middle Tenebrean just to read Delacroix’s terribly dull research? A glutton for punishment, that one.</p><p>It doesn’t seem so long ago that it was the five of us at Coernix, does it? You four with your smartphones and your recipes and your Regalia. You laughed and played your games, stared a little too longingly at one another, turned away whenever you thought someone noticed. Then always—<em>always</em>—one by one, each of you gazed into the distance and remembered that you chose to take this journey. To offer your bodies to the crown, your lives to the machinations of a god.</p><p>And then, of course, there was me.</p><p>No, I wasn’t seeing things, and yes, you, too, made a choice. You can lie to yourself all you want, Noct, but never lie to me. We <em>both</em> allowed ourselves to be playthings of the Astrals. We could have chosen different paths, ones that refused the demands of the divine, but we didn’t.</p><p>Such is the price we paid—we must pay—for piety. For <em>surrender</em>. But you know the story already.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> I was young, so young. Younger than you, even, before you set out for Altissia. That night, they had me blindfolded, gagged, hair bound at the nape. A fist clamped that knot, steered me forward as a bolline dug into the web of flesh connecting ear to skull. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Turn left,” Gilgamesh hissed, “and mind the step.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Of course I stumbled. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thankfully, his steel retreated, and steadying hands found my shoulders. Once I regained my footing, the blade returned—a silent promise from him and his fellows to kill me if I ever spoke these secrets. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Someone yanked the blindfold off, and I realized we’d arrived at the mouth of a cavern. The entrance was flanked by a mix of tallow and beeswax candles—the sweet honey of spring oozing into the smell of burning flesh—and a brown-robed figure who spoke with a deep yet feminine voice: “Who stands at the Northern Gate?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It is I, Ardyn,” I answered in classic fashion. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The high priestess tossed back her hood to reveal a smooth marble mask. Fierce amber eyes blazed behind holes in gold-veined stone. “Your name is known, but you are not one of us.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “He seeks the path of initiation, Lady Deepbone,” Gilgamesh, now fully in his attendant priest role, said, “and the chance to become one of the Children.” </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>It’s not Ignis I see first—bless this little entourage for always surprising me—but Prompto. The blond marksman is all hard angles and contrasts in the light clipped to his jacket, but I can see his face still has that sweet brush of youth. Ahh, the blessing of a peasant’s childhood, free of a bloodbound House’s burdens.</p><p>But I also know those dark circles he wears around his eyes, the lines of strain and stress stretching his mouth. They weren’t there before Altissia, </p><p>( <em> if I need blood, boy, I’ll just take it </em>)</p><p>certainly not as deep before the Crystal took his darling Noct away and cast the world into dark.</p><p>Prompto scans the area and shouts, “Ravus was right. The passage opens up into one big cavern, just like he said.” One loud sniff later, he adds, “You smell that?”</p><p>“Yes,” Ignis calls back. He sounds miles away but isn’t—a trick of the paths—and turns a corner into the cavern moments later. “Light it.”</p><p>Prompto aims, shoots, nicks an open lantern dangling above a trough of lamp oil. The spark sets wick and trough alight, blaze snaking and spreading until the entire cavern glows a soft yellow-white.</p><p>He gasps at what the fire reveals. “Shit, Igs, I know you can’t exactly see this but—”</p><p>I take this as my cue to emerge from the shadows that writhe in the corners. “The Children of Deepbone were quite the artisans, were they not?”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> “Surely you know,” she said, “that my priest will open your throat before I open my gate to an unknown.” A flick of her wrist, and the curved blade hooked across my throat. “What can you offer, Ardyn, that’s more valuable than your blood?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I felt my nerves fray as words tumbled out my mouth. “I m-mean, if you n-n-need blood—” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “If I need blood, boy, I’ll just take it!” she screamed, crossing the space between us to knock me to the ground. “What gives yours value? Why should you live? What right do you have to carve your face into Titan’s bones and be crowned in the hollow of his heart?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A thin stream of blood ran down my neck where the white-sharp steel had pressed. “Because,” I said as magic wove through my fingers, “I am a healer.” I smeared the blood away to reveal the newly knitted skin. Rubbed my bloody hands into the dirt. “And I give freely what the land would take.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She tilted her head ever so slightly, and two hooded figures behind her lowered their torches into a gully cut into the stone. Suddenly, the entire cavern lit up as oil burst into flame. I gasped. Adorning the whitestone walls was an elaborate carving of Titan’s ribcage. Between the bones, people. People standing arm-in-arm, making offerings, performing rituals, honoring the Astrals. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And all along the bonepores—in every sinew and organfold—words. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Entire libraries in stone. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The high priestess lifted her mask to reveal a face luminous with joy. “Enter, and be welcome.” </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>I do not expect to be embraced.</p><p>I also do not expect to be shot in the face. </p><p>“A waste of bullets,” I say, allowing corruption to ooze from my wounds before they close, “not to mention a rude welcome for someone only here to help.”</p><p>Prompto narrows his eyes, lowers his gun an inch. Ignis, however, practically <em> growls </em> as he spits, “What kind of help do we need from y—”</p><p>Before he can finish, however, I warp across the cavern, slam him into the wall, and press a dagger against his throat. “Don’t act so high and mighty, <em>advisor</em>. For all your technological advances, you Insomnians are barely three steps above squatting in caves, burning garulessa hunks, and burying them in front of pretty rocks, like the Children did long before your progenitors drew their first breaths!”</p><p>Ignis, that wonderful man, doesn’t even flinch. “I assume you mean the Children of Deepbone. They did seem quite philosophically advanced, or so my research suggests. Hence why—”</p><p>“Yes, yes, very good,” I interrupt. Of course I know this, have known all this for centuries. “All quite boring, I can assure you. I won’t let you in, though.” </p><p>Prompto pipes up. “Umm, seems like we kinda are.”</p><p>I sigh, roll my eyes. “Fine, if you simply <em> must </em> be pedantic! But I’ll</p><p>( <em> open your throat before I open my gate to an unknown </em> )</p><p>kill you unless you surrender.”</p><p>Finally, a reaction. Eyebrows rise on Ignis’s scarred face—<em>dear Noct, how do your men grow more beautiful the more damaged they become?</em>—as Prompto lowers his weapon in shock. </p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> I knelt as they poured garula entrails over my head and shoulders, consecrated me to Titan, He-Who-Is-the-Black-Bull-of-Night-and-the-White-Star-of-Birth. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The high priestess gathered my blood-soaked robes in her hands, kissed the fabric near my skin as she spoke: “I bless the feet that walk the sacred path. The knees that support you at the altar. The sex, without which you would not be. The breast, forged in strength and beauty. The mouth that speaks the holy words. The sight that recognizes all things hallowed and true.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I was crowned in the whitestone of Titan’s ribs, and only then did I speak again. “Thank you, Lady Deepbone.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It is not me you should thank,” she said, “but all of us. Gilgamesh for sponsoring your initiation. The neophytes who carried the torches to light the way. Especially the seers who read your destiny in the stars.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When I flinched, her grin turned feral in the dancing firelight. “I’m no fool, Ardyn. I know who you are, why you’re here. Gilgamesh told us you wanted access to our libraries.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Fool! I thought furiously. Worried she’d resent the anger in my face, I willed my head and heart to calm and said simply, “I…see.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “In time you will.” Lady Deepbone chuckled and pivoted away, eyes gazing deep into the caverns. “It’s natural to seek it. Someday you’ll understand how we’ve managed to retain so much. Why my predecessor was named Deepbone, as my successor will be, and their successor, and so on. Why even if the stem withers, the root remains—no matter how deep, no matter how buried.” </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Keeping the blade tight against Ignis’s throat, I gesture with my free hand. “This place and all you see beyond? They’re sacred mysteries. You must be worthy of them.”</p><p>“I fail to see how <em> surrendering </em> has anything to do with that.” The way he focuses despite the moonwhite break of light behind his eyes would terrify a lesser man. “Nor is that knife of yours inspiring much reason to do so.”</p><p>“W-w-waitasec. Are you talking about that whole give-yourself-to-the-shepherd thing?” Prompto cocks his head, a curious look on his face. I remember telling Verstael once how his clones all had the same lost-dog expression, but he’d laughed and called me foolish. He wasn’t entirely wrong.</p><p>“Why Prompto, I didn’t take <em> you </em>for the pious type! I thought it might be Ignis, or perhaps Gladiolus.</p><p>( <em> the breast, forged in strength and beauty </em> )</p><p>After all, religious education used to be an <em> aristocratic </em> staple.”</p><p>The advisor mutters something utterly blasphemous in Middle Tenebrean, and I almost cheer.</p><p>Prompto shrugs. “I, umm, used to jog by the Temple of Ramuh at matins. There’s a thing in his prayer songs about becoming ‘as sheep to the shepherd’ and letting yourself be led. But how do we know you mean to herd and not slaughter?”</p><p>( <em> the mouth that speaks the holy words </em>)</p><p>“You don’t, but don’t you think that if I needed your blood, I’d simply take it?”</p><p>Recognition flickers across Ignis’s face. “Put your gun away, Prompto. As for you—” He swallows hard, pushes his throat forward. “—<em>I give freely what the land would take</em>.”</p><p>My blade withdraws, and I grin. “Then enter, and be welcome.”</p>
<hr/><p>Oh, stop complaining, Noct. You know damn well I wouldn’t have killed them. We <em> need </em>them. But I’m the last Lord Deepbone, and the duties of my office are clear. </p><p>Don’t question my sanity either. If there’s one thing that’s kept me lucid over the years, it’s honesty. Well, three things: honesty, observation, and conversation. I don’t just talk to hear myself, no matter what you say.</p><p>Lady Deepbone told me then, though I only understood it years later: <em> the individual dies, the collective is immortal</em>. What she gave, she gave to those who were, those who are, those who shall be—knowing that someday, the Children would change, form to form, veil to veil.</p><p>And you said it yourself when I told the story—we’re the same. Giving of ourselves to those who were, those who are, those who shall be. </p><p>Your life.</p><p>( <em>the knees that support you at the altar</em> )</p><p>My soul.</p><p>( <em>the sex, without which you would not be</em> )</p><p>Our sacrifice must balance. The debt has to be paid.</p><p>The key to breaking the yoke is there—in the most complete library in Eos—and if anyone can decipher it, it’s Ignis.</p><p>( <em>the</em> <em>sight that recognizes all things hallowed and true</em> )</p><p>I know they’ll save us.</p><p>I know they’ll all save us.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/lucianlibrarian">@lucianlibrarian</a><br/>Discord: starryfox#7213</p></blockquote></div></div>
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